Mandalorian Inquisition
by BlackWolf219
Summary: There are things one must do in the name of family, sometimes at the cost of their own conscience or morality. When Sabine Wren finds herself drafted into the Imperial Inquisition working alongside an unusual partner, she may find everything she ever believed in challenged.
1. Chapter 1

A shiver crawled along her spine, the same one which had settled there for the past three weeks, and her instincts told her she was being watched. Reflexively, her free hand settled on her WESTAR and her eyes roamed over the room. Just as it had been for the past three weeks, she was alone with only her thoughts to keep her company. The only eyes upon her were those of the ancestors, immortalized in portraits that hung from the walls of the estate's art gallery. Where once their gaze inspired only awe, the stillness of their eyes and lifeless glint brought on by the sun invited only unease.

It was like they were saying: _You are not welcome here, coward_.

"Sabine."

The young girl nearly jumped but reigned herself in and turned to face her younger brother, Tristan. If he'd caught any hint of her surprise, he said nothing; in their younger years, he would have boasted that he caught her with her guard down and she'd have gladly tossed a snowball at him. A playful little war that could only be waged by siblings would have erupted, ending with them lying in the snow, breathless from laughter.

Those days seemed long ago now.

"Did you need something, Tristan?" Sabine asked.

"It's almost time for dinner," he said like it was obvious. "Mother was wondering where you were?"

His gaze flicked to her hair briefly and his face wrinkled slightly at the sight; she knew why too. Being an artist, Sabine saw now greater form of expression than to wear her art like it was her armor, and to that end, she would often dye her hair a variety of colors, only keeping to one style if she liked it enough. Currently, she was sporting a mix of dark blue and soft orange, the kind of vibrancy frowned upon by those of higher rank—and lower creativity—than her. Even among her own clan, she noticed the occasional odd glance. It had also been the source of endless arguments between Sabine and her mother, which had increased in both frequency and intensity as of late.

The young artist was prepared to wage the same kind of battle with Tristan, should he challenge her on the subject, but in deference to her status as big sister, he held his tongue. The only critique he offered was the shake of his head before departing. After a moment of studying her painting, she set down her brush and followed suit.

The afternoon sky flooded the halls of the family estate with muted columns of orange and glittered dazzlingly off the frozen lake in the courtyard. It was a rare day of sunshine on Krownest, a planet where the temperature ranged from manageable to freezing throughout the year. It hardly bothered the members of Clan Wren, but it was endless source of complaint from their newest additions.

Sabine turned the corner and nearly barreled into her cousin, Juno.

"Oh!" the girl cried. "Sabine, there you are! Finally decided to emerge from your layer?"

Sabine offered a small grin, "Hey, a girl's gotta eat sooner or later, right?"

"Too true," Juno sighed. "Just another mouth to feed."

"That a problem?"

"Of course not," her cousin answered rather sharply. "Sorry, I just got my head chewed off by Uncle Kori. He says that our inventory for winter wasn't properly calculated. I _know_ that I put in the right numbers, but he insisted that I'd screwed up and I just wanted to take his head off. At least, that was before I…"

"You…" Sabine urged.

"Before I found out the stinking bantha breather was right!"

Juno groaned leaning herself against the wall, looking for all the galaxy miserable. Since their youth, Sabine often found her cousin to be a perfectionist, not much different from her if she was to be honest. Any perceived failure was the greatest insult, just as whatever victory she could grasp from a situation was the ultimate satisfaction. She could imagine Juno having to admit her own faults was as likely as their people forging a lasting peace.

"Hey," Sabine offered a hand on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. We all make mistakes, right?"

 _Some of which we can never atone for_.

"I guess," Juno huffed.

The young artist decided to leave her cousin to sulk and continued toward her family's dining hall. The orange sky faded into purple by the time she arrived, just as her Uncle Kori was giving his report on the food inventory. While not much of a warrior in the physical sense, Kori Wren's mind was sharper than any blade forged on Krownest or the mother world of Mandalore. To that end, his skills were focused on maintaining Clan Wren's finances, weapons material, and food supply. His meticulous nature was well-known, it served him well; he could spot an out of place bolt just by watching a machine perform its duties. Sabine would've never said it in front of Juno, but if her uncle said there had been a slight miscalculation, then he was most likely right.

Uncle Kori adjusted his glasses along the bridge of his beak like nose and murmured, "Juno insisted that food supply numbers were accurate, but upon further inspection, I discovered her calculations were off by a few measurements. It's nothing to worry yourself over, Countess, but this goes back as far as three weeks and you know how stubborn the poor girl is. After she finished flashing her fangs at me, all I had to do was show her the numbers and the food supply and she conceded her mistake."

"I see," her mother's voice replied. "And what do you suggest we do about it?"

"I wasn't suggesting anything, Countess," Kori replied. "I'm mostly venting about the frustrations of rebellious youths."

Sabine heard her mother's soft chuckle, a sound about as rare as the sighting of a Purgill.

"On that subject," the older woman sighed. "You will find no greater expert."

Sabine clenched her jaw as a pang of hurt struck at her heart; it wasn't as though her mother attempted to her hide her contempt for her daughter's apparent free spirit. But still, listening to her talk with someone else about it was somehow more painful than hearing about directly.

Steeling herself, Sabine decided to make her presence known by entering the dining hall. It was mostly empty, save for her parents, Uncle Kori and Tristan. All three of them glanced up to watch as she made her entrance. Her mother, Countess Ursa Wren, roamed her amber eyes over her daughter's appearance and clicked her tongue. But the young Mandalorian met her gaze head, ready to engage her in combat if need be.

Before her mother could say anything, she glanced at her father (who'd no doubt taken her hand under the table) and relented. Leave it to Alrich Wren to negotiate a peace between mother and daughter. It was practically second-nature to him these days. If there was one thing Sabine and her mother agreed on, it was that they would have ripped each other's throats out if not for her father's presence. Wordlessly, Sabine settled into her chair opposite of Tristan.

Uncle Kori excused himself and vanished into the hallway.

For a time, the four of them ate in silence, the tense atmosphere that had settled over them a few months ago continuing at a steady pace. And Sabine knew it was her fault, but she wouldn't give her mother the satisfaction of admitting it. Not after all she'd done in the name of family.

 _And Family always comes first_ , Sabine thought bitterly. Even at the cost of one's a conscience and morality.

But if things went accordingly, then in a few short days, she would be on her way to joining the ranks of the Imperial Division, where a prime spot apparently awaited her under the leadership of Viceroy Gar Saxon. The idea of having to swallow her pride as a Mandalorian and serve under that glorified politician made her blood boil. But that was the price of being born into one of "Mandalore's finest clan's" as the Countess so often liked to remind her. If only her mother knew just what Saxon intended for Mandalore and her people. Rather than focus on that, however, Sabine banished all thoughts on the subject and continued with her meal.

"So, Sabine," Tristan spoke up, "you must be pretty excited to be joining the Emperor's Hand."

"I guess," she hummed.

"It is quite the honor," her father offered. "To be given such a high rank at your age, nothing short of remarkable."

"It's to be expected," her mother said. "She is of Clan Wren, after all."

Anyone else might have mistaken Ursa's words for an expression of pride, but Sabine was far too aware of when the matriarch of Clan Wren was merely stating a fact. She would have said something if not for that familiar shiver running along her spine again. Again, she felt an unseen gaze settle on her, watching and studying, searching for any hint of weakness. Her entire body tensed, and she would have sprung out of her seat and aimed her blasters in whatever direction that coldness was coming from if not for her training.

"Sabine!" her mother's voice snapped.

She blinked, "What?"

"Your father asked if something was bothering you," Ursa said, a critical lilt in her voice.

The Mandalorian artist flushed slightly, "It's nothing. I guess I'm just nervous."

"There's no need," Alrich assured her. "All you need do is devote yourself to your training and discipline and you will bring honor to us and to Mandalore."

"Yes, father."

They continued eating in slightly more comfortable silence before a knock rattled the dining room hall door. Her Aunt Sacha Wren entered the hall, head bowed, and body stiff.

"Countess," she said. "You have a guest."

It must have been someone of great importance for her to adopt such a formal tone with her own sister. Sabine noted it was her family's way of warning Ursa to an oncoming danger.

Ursa cleared her throat, "And who thinks they are so important that they can arrive unannounced in the middle of the night?"

"Viceroy Gar Saxon, my lady."

Sabine watched as her mother frowned in confusion; Saxon may have been the Emperor's Hand and the apparent ruler of Mandalore, but not even he would warrant such a stiff reaction from her aunt. Which could mean only one thing?

"Has he come alone?" Ursa asked cautiously.  
"No," Sacha replied, lifting her eyes to meet her sisters. "He's brought the Grand Inquisitor with him."

A flash of cold passed through Sabine's blood, a dark sense of foreboding hanging in the air. Though she'd never seen one personally, everyone on Mandalore knew of the Imperial Inquisition, a division of the Galactic Empire home to a small group of force sensitives tasked with enforcing the will of the Emperor throughout the known galaxy. In the entirety of the Empire's reign, an Inquisitor had never set foot in Mandalorian territory. She'd known a few of students at the Imperial Academy who confidently attributed that fact to Mandalore's perceived might, even in the face of subjugation. But Sabine knew better; she knew that if they wanted, Inquisitors could come and go as they pleased into their territory and there wasn't much that could stop them.

To some, there was no difference between an Inquisitor and a Jedi, but Sabine knew that to be a falsehood. Jedi were predictable, fighting for what they perceived to be a noble cause. Hypocrites they may have been, but they were hypocrites with a sense of honor, if the stories were to be believed. But it was a moot point; the Jedi were gone, wiped out by forces of the Empires, and it was left to the Inquisitors to flush them out. Which begged the question of why the Grand Inquisitor was here on Krownest.

Mandalorian space was the last place a Jedi would seek refuge; her people had no love the now extinct order. To be honest, many of them blamed the failure of the Jedi for Mandalore's current predicament; had it not been for the Siege, her people might still be free. Of course, Sabine knew there was more to it than that, but now was not the time to dwell on such things.

The four of them made their way to the grand hall of their estate, a collective nervousness binding them together. They stopped just out the hall, and Sabine chanced a gaze at her mother. For all her confidence, not even Ursa could hide her anxiety and fear regarding the situation she was walking into. Dealing with Gar Saxon was one thing, the presence of the Grand Inquisitor offered an uncertainty which bordered on unnerving. After taking a few seconds to harden herself, she strode forward and opened the door into the grand hall.

The four of them filed out into their usual formation; Ursa seated in her throne; Alrich standing dutifully by her side; Sabine and Tristan positioned at the bottom of the steps.

The Countess nodded to the guards placed at the doors, who promptly opened them up as two figures entered the hall.

Imperial Viceroy Gar Saxon was clad in usual attire, the bloodred Commando armor which signified his position as leader. His gray hair was swept back formally, shaven at the sides. Cold grey eyes surveyed the room carefully, as if he hadn't spent numerous times here, slowly pressuring Sabine's clan with the heel of his boot. There was a bit of stubble darkening his face, but he carried himself with the same swagger that reminded Sabine of a bug crawling its way along the floor. As his eyes settled on the four of them, he offered an oily smirked, convinced that _he_ was the cause for concern and intimidation, and not the being standing next to him.

In her studies, she had briefly looked into the Inquisition and found any detail on its members scarce. The only images she could find were taken from a holonet server belonging to a Rebel sympathizer. Even then, they were mostly blurred out stills of the Imperial enforcers in action, but she'd managed to find one picture that had stayed with her ever since and now it was staring her and her family in the face.

The Grand Inquisitor was Pau'an male clad in black armor, leaving only his gray face exposed. His broad nose sneered at them from his place at the entrance. Red markings ran vertically over his eyes. Eyes that housed black sclera, where only drew more attention to the golden irises and dilated pupils. The Imperial was every bit the demon she'd imagined him to be.

What struck her even more, however, was how _calm_ he seemed, how he could stand there still as a statue, observing everything around him. He wasn't even _shivering_ from the cold outside; even Gar Saxon, who was only just growing accustomed to the weather on Krownest couldn't hide the shuddering of his body.

At last, her mother spoke, "Viceroy, Saxon. As always, it is the greatest privilege to host the Emperor's Hand. And I see that you have not come alone. Welcome, Grand Inquisitor."

"Many thanks, Countess Wren," the Pau'an replied, his voice distinctly too snake-like for Sabine's liking. "I do apologize for the late hour, but this was a matter the Viceroy and I agreed could no longer wait upon."

"Yes," Saxon spoke at last. "There has been a change in plans, I'm afraid."

Sabine felt the tension coiling in her stomach grow tighter.

"A 'change?'" her mother's voice carried an edge to it.

"Yes," Saxon continued, before shifting his eyes to Sabine. "I'm afraid that Sabine will no longer be joining the Supercommandos. Tristan will take her place while she assumes a new role in aiding the Imperial Inquisition."

The tension forming in her stomach coalesced into this unimaginable weight that crashed to the bottom as the words sank in. She was numbly aware of the world around her, of her father's startled gasp, her mother's widening eyes, and Tristan's knees nearly giving out. Sabine was only vaguely aware of her mother's voice when she spoke, "Pardon…?"

"I understand that this comes as a shock, truly," Saxon replied, feigning an understanding tone. "I was just as surprised when the Grand Inquisitor informed just a few weeks ago. I was looking forward to working with Sabine to ensure Mandalore's continued growth and expansion under the Empires' influence, but this directive comes from Grand Moff Tarkin himself. He feels that a consolidation of resources will prove beneficial in flushing out Rebel sympathizers and Jedi remnants. Regardless, I'm more than certain Tristan is up to the task. Aren't you, my boy?"

For the first time, Sabine chanced a look at her brother. Tristan Wren's face had lost all color and he looked as if he'd been struck dumb by an unexpected blow. Their father coughed into his hand, snapping the younger boy out of his stupor.

"Of course, Viceroy Saxon," Tristan answered steadily. "I am honored to join the ranks of the Commandos."

Saxon nodded, "Glad to hear it."

At that point, the Inquisitor spoke, golden eyes focusing on Sabine, "Lady Wren, I have seen your Academy scores and must say, even for a Mandalorian, your skills are remarkable. I've no doubt that you perform admirably in service of the Empire."

Sabine's throat felt dry under the probing gaze of the Pau'an, but she held herself; if she'd learned anything from her mother, it was how to hide your emotions from those who would exploit them.

"I will… do my best, Grand Inquisitor. I look forward to working with you."

The alien chuckled, low and unsettling, "Apologies, Lady Wren, but you will be partnering with another. Come forth, Seventh Brother!"

Sabine wasn't sure what she expected—she was still reeling from the initial declaration—but one thing she was certain of was that she didn't expect the newest member of their meeting to emerge from behind her father. The hiss of a door alerted the four of them to the newcomer, who entered via the (previously) secret passageway located next to her mother's throne. Her father stepped in shock aside to give her a better look and the Seventh Brother.

From head to toe, he was clad in black armor, his torso sporting a vest with red buckles at the top, and white lines along the side. The forearm gauntlets he wore were color gray and silver, a battle skirt lined with silver along the edge and boots. On his shoulders, he bore the insignia of the Inquisition. On his head, he wore intricately designed helmet, a sliver of red over the opaque visor framed with silver. As he descended the stairs, she realized he wasn't that much taller than her.

He stopped to briefly tilt his helmet in her in direction before continuing towards Saxon and the Grand Inquisitor. Once behind his superior, he rested against the wall, arms crossed as he took in their shocked expressions.

"Greetings," he said, voice distorted through his helmet.

Her mother was the first to regain her composure, zeroing in the newcomer like she had a blaster in and was training it directly at him.

"And just how did you know about that passage?"

"I found it," the younger Imperial shrugged.

"You 'found it'?"

"Yeah, while I was looking around. I got bored waiting for so long and decided to familiarize myself with your estate. It's very lovely by the way."

Sabine's mother looked ready to do away with formality and start pulling out her blasters when Alrich wisely stepped in.

"Pardon us, Seventh Brother, but I believe the Countess wishes to know just how long you've been roaming about our home."

"I'd say," the younger Inquisitor paused, leaning his head back as he did some internal calculations. "About three weeks."

Sabine felt a sudden shock of ice water inject itself into her veins. _Three weeks_. That could mean _he_ was the presence she'd sensed watching her this whole time. Her warrior's instinct was always right, even when she wished it wasn't. At the very least, the discrepancy with the food supply made a little more sense now.

"Yes," the Grand Inquisitor said slowly. "You must forgive Seventh Brother's methods. He felt it necessary to observe you in your natural routines and reach his own assessments about Lady Wren."

The Seventh Brother snorted but was ignored.

"In any event," Gar Saxon cleared his throat. "I'm sure that with the two will make a fine team."

"I should hope so, Viceroy," the Pau'an nodded. "Their first assignment begins tomorrow."

Now none of the Clan Wren members could keep their jaws from falling open.

"Lovely," the Seventh Brother replied. "If we're done here, I'm going to get some sleep,"—he glanced at Sabine—"See you in the morning, Lady Wren."

The young Mandalorian managed to compose herself, "You as well, Seventh Brother. I look forward to working with you. I promise to do my best."

"Right," he said. "Well, don't worry about it too much, otherwise you'll screw up. And if that happens, then I'll be forced to kill you."

Without another word, the Seventh Brother, Grand Inquisitor, and Gar Saxon departed, leaving the four Mandalorians to their own terrible thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

"You want me to work with a partner?"

The Seventh Brother finished donning his armor and locking it into place, never taking his eyes off the Grand Inquisitor, careful to not let his surprise seem obvious. Of all the reasons for an increase in meetings with the Grand Moff, the young Inquisitor hadn't considered the topic of resource consolidation. But when he gave it some thought, it made a little sense; a recent surge of rebel activity in the Outer Rim was a cause of concern for the higher-ups lacking Tarkin's unshakable calm. The unexpected liberation of a cache of Wookies from the Space Mines on Kessel had undoubted prompted these talks to shape into reality.

Still, the Seventh Brother didn't understand how and why it concerned him.

"Is there a problem, Seventh Brother?" asked the Grand Inquisitor as though he read the younger being's mind.

 _Yes,_ he thought; there were several issues he had with this plan. The last thing he needed was to be at the forefront of a test that would determine the future of Imperial operations protocols in the future. The chances of a successful blending of styles were, in his opinion, slim and the last thing he needed was to be used as an example of failure. Let someone more ambitious take the risk.

"Sir," he began, "while I can understand the practical implications, I work better on my own."

"Do you?"

Under the probing gaze of his superior, the younger Inquisitor shivered internally, struggling not to make his fear too apparent. Only months ago, he'd been allowed to operate under his own discretion, without the need of someone observing his movements and reporting them back to command—not that there was anything of note to report. He didn't want some fresh-faced Academy graduate who would salute his every order with a smile and enthusiasm which would make him sick.

"Yes," the Seventh swallowed nervously. "You've seen from my reports, I'm far more efficient without having to worry about someone who has no idea what they're doing."

"Then you're in luck," the Pau'an grinned in a way that reminded the Brother of a viper. "The prospect I have in mind was the top of her class at the Academy, with a specialty in weapons manufacturing. From her marks, I can assure you that she won't be any sort of hindrance."

The Seventh Brother cursed himself inwardly; he'd walked into that one.

"But there's a difference between performing well under simulated conditions and keeping your composure in an actual battle, sir. Take Admiral Ozzel's grand-nephew. Top of his class and granted command of his own platoon, and blown to bits during the Siege of Lasan."

His superior nodded, "A fair point. However, the difference between that imbecile's muddled bloodline and your prospective partner is that she comes from a one of Mandalore's finest clans."

"Sir, I can—Mandalore?!"

"Yes," he nodded, grin widening, "Sabine Wren, quite the prodigy. Accepted to the Mandalorian Imperial Academy at the age of thirteen, excelled in all of her studies, and was accepted into Project Black Sword and provided pivotal data which led to its completion."

 _Project Black Sword?_

The Seventh Brother had only heard that name in passing among others like Project Stardust or Defender, but the very fact that it impressed the Grand Inquisitor meant it was something important. Which meant that this Sabine Wren was someone important, and any harm that might befall her would reflect negatively upon him and shorten the leash he'd worked too hard to extend. Just another reason to avoid this experiment at any cost. Besides, the Pau'an had given him a potential opening.

"Grand Inquisitor," he began with as much reverence he could feign. "If anything, that only proves my point. The Mandalorians are an unpredictable variable. They're appetite for violence makes them reckless and would only endanger whatever mission we embarked upon. Consider their feelings regarding Force users and it's a recipe for disaster. I'm sure you can convince the Grand Moff of this plan's faults."

"Another point in your favor, Seventh Brother."

The younger Inquisitor tried to keep his hopes in check and undetected.

"However—"

 _Sithspit_.

"The fact of the matter is that the prospective benefits far outweigh any draw backs you might be able to think of. You _will_ be partnering with this Sabine Wren and I expect you to act in accordance with any orders you are given. Any failure on your part reflects poorly upon the Inquisition and that, Seventh Brother, is _unacceptable._ "

The Grand Inquisitor turned his back to the younger being and proceeded toward the door. Every instinct in the Seventh told him further argument was pointless and that he should accept this new situation. But something within urged him forward.

"But sir, I—"

The Pau'an spun around, leveling his amber gaze on his subordinate, annoyance and anger radiating in slow waves from his form. The Seventh Brother knew then he had exhausted his superior's patience and was treading dangerously close to insubordination. And the punishment for that made failure a preferable alternative. The Seventh froze, careful not to further aggravate the man's demeanor than he'd already had. With a practiced swiftness, he assumed a supplicant stance.

He was about to ask for a pardon when the Grand Inquisitor spoke:

"Perhaps you're right, Seventh Brother. This assignment may prove too great a responsibility for you. I should select another with more experience in these types of matters. But this lack of confidence in your abilities raises several concerns. I may have to consider placing you under the supervision of another for the time being."

Fear and outrage gripped his chest in a vice, growing tighter with each word. A younger, more naïve subordinate might have called these bluffs, if they were only that. He knew too well that the Pau'an operated not on threats but rather promises.

"Perhaps, the Seventh Sister wouldn't mind overseeing your progress once again."

The Seventh Brother's fear exploded inside of him, spreading through his veins like a poisonous ice. He was glad for the helmet covering his face so that his fear was laid bare for others to see. Regardless, the Grand Inquisitor could surely sense the panicked waves emanating from his body. And just like that, he found himself with a losing hand either way.

It was either babysit some Mando golden child or…

He shuddered and lowered his head, conceding to his superior.

"Grand Inquisitor," he said, tone devoid of all emotion. "Forgive my insubordination and cowardice. I only wish to serve the Empire and the Inquisition in the most effective way possible. If you believe this is the best way, then I am honored to be chosen. Please, allow me to go forward and spread the glory of our mighty Empire."

The Pau'an hummed, smirk evident in his voice, "There's no need to be dramatic, Seventh Brother, it was only a suggestion. I had a feeling you would see things my way."

The Seventh gritted his teeth beneath his mask, a surge of hate flooding his body and he was possessed of a desire to drive his saber through the kriffing nerf-herder. He wasn't interested in throwing his life away, however, and reigned himself in. He settled for curling his hand in to fist and focusing all his anger and tension there.

"When am I to meet my new… partner?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Within a month's time."

"Then might I offer a suggestion?"

He took the silence as a sign to continue.

 **II**

The Seventh Brother arrived in the dead of night on the frozen wasteland called Krownest. The temperature was unbearable, the landscape uninspiring, and his misery unrelenting. To remain undetected, he smuggled himself into a shipment of food destined for the ice planet. Once grounded, he managed to avoid the detail inspecting the food and disappeared into the halls of the estate. Now all he needed to do was sit back and watch life unfold on Krownest.

The Seventh prided himself on making himself the most unassuming person in any room on any planet, even with his unique appearance. Being able to move freely and unnoticed served one well where assassinations and intel gathering were concerned. Yet another reason why teaming with a Mandalorian was an undesirable outcome, especially this one in particular.

Aboard the transport, the Seventh Brother took the time to roam over the files to provided to him on Sabine Wren. She was not only a weapons expert, but an aspiring artist, and many of her weapons had a penchant for creating mass explosions. Not just that, she apparently loaded them with _paint_ of all things. The more he read on her, the less he looked forward to meeting her.

The only parts of her file that didn't leave him rolling his eyes were the blacked-out portions pertaining to Project Black Sword. Whatever she'd been working on, Imperial Command didn't want it out there for the galaxy to see. That suited him fine; the less he knew about her role in the project, the better he could ignore it. What the higher-ups did was none of his concern; all he wanted to do was drift below everyone's radar. It was the best way to survive.

The first three days of his observations were dedicated to learning every inch of the Clan Wren estate and familiarizing himself with them. On the second day, he discovered a secret passageway which led into the main hall, located to the side of the clan head's throne. The third day was when he got his first look at his future partner.

Crawling through the vents of the estate, the Inquisitor found himself spying on the family art gallery. As expected, the artwork was obnoxious and garish, the only works worth noting being those of Clan Wren ancestors handing from the walls. Alone in the gallery sat a solitary figure, hard at work on her own piece.

The only picture of Sabine Wren included in his files was her inauguration photo taken on the first day of her education. All he'd seen was a girl with short brown hair, amber eyes, and a maturity far beyond someone her age. The person he was looking at now was dressed in armor sprinkled with paint, sharp cheek bones, and hair dyed blue and orange. Her armor was decorated a variety of colors, the main one being a deep shade of pink, while the shoulder pieces sported a checkerboard pattern and some species he didn't recognize respectively. All in all, he hadn't expected someone so… colorful.

Just another thing to dislike about her; her choice in attire meant she would stand out even more. They would have to remedy that.

As he checked off his list of critiques, the young Mando stopped her painting. Her body tensed, and she turned around, free hand resting on her blaster. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned along the room carefully. He paused mid-thought and watched her, suddenly intrigued. Had she sensed his presence?

He knew from her file that she wasn't Force-sensitive; there hadn't been a Mando like that born in three thousand years. If she had, the Inquisitors would have no doubt come for, and that would have created all sorts of problems. Either way, her instincts were sharp, and he had to admit he was impressed.

The first week ended with him observing Wren and her family in their natural interactions, which were, to say the least, tense. More specifically, the center of all the tension landed between Sabine and the head of Clan Wren, her mother Ursa. The tension between them was so great that an argument inevitably broke out over something innocuous. He didn't pay attention, tuning it out until the father played peacemaker and they went their separate ways. Well, that made his observations more interesting at least.

The second week passed on without much to note aside from the Wren girl's certainty that she was being watched. Her movements were careful, gazes cautious, and senses alert. Seventh found himself admitting a grudging respect for her.

The only other instance of strife between Clan Wren members was brought on by his appetite. He'd been so focused on pulling whatever victory he could from this situation, he hadn't thought it wholly through. A planet as harsh as Krownest was a nightmare during winter, hence the need for a food shipment. Luckily for him, he managed to sneak some extra food into the supply that was mistakenly counted among the rest. Which led to a rather loud shouting match between Clan Wren's glorified accountant and one of Sabine's cousins.

Towards the end of the third week, he received a transmission from the Grand Inquisitor. He and the Mandalorian Imperial Viceroy Gar Saxon were on their way and would be arriving tomorrow night. Knowing his superior, the visit would appear spontaneous and they would present this decision as a sudden shift in plans to catch the Countess off-guard. The Seventh Brother was sure it came as a shock to Viceroy Saxon, who wouldn't be pleased with having a prospect of Sabine Wren's value snatched from him. But the fool wasn't about to jeopardize his political ambitions to avenge his bruised ego.

The following afternoon, he watched in the gallery, observed her conversation with her cousin, and studied her entire family during what was a very tense dinner. Then the Countess' sister entered the room to warn them of Saxon and the Grand Inquisitor's arrival. From there, he moved into position, waiting behind the door behind Count Wren, listening to the exchange unfold.

He rolled his eyes at the blatantly obvious political game at hand and waited for the Pau'an's signal.

"Come forth, Seventh Brother!"

 _Show time_ he thought bitterly.

Opening the door, he stepped out into the open, eliciting surprise from the four Mandalorians, particularly the father. Without a word, he strode past the man, the throne upon which Ursa Wren sat, and stopped right next to Sabine Wren. He studied her a moment before moving on and settling against the wall behind the Grand Inquisitor.

"Greetings," he offered with a practiced tone of lacking interest.

 **III**

Sabine woke up the next morning later than usual; she'd been unable to sleep after last nights events. It all still seemed so unreal to her, like a cruel joke waiting to be unveiled. But she knew it was only reality, a warped reality so different from what she had spent months preparing herself for. The young Mandalorian had been filled with dread as the day of her induction to the Supercommnado program drew near. The only solace she'd managed to find in that bleak future was the knowledge that she could anticipate what to expect. Now her dread hungrily fed upon the uncertainty which had developed overnight.

For a moment she sat there, wondering how suddenly a change could sneak up on you. How quickly one could be thrust into an unfamiliar territory with an uncertain variable. How a Mandalorian was supposed to work with an Imperial Inquisitor.

Setting aside her concerns, she got up, showered, dressed and proceeded towards the main hall, where her new assignment awaited her.

Sabine passed her brother room and peered in through the open door. He was dressing in his newly minted Commando set, watching himself in the mirror. The anxiety coming off him was palpable.

"Tristan," she greeted as she entered.

When he turned to her, she expected to see resentment flare up when he saw her. Being her younger brother, he'd always been in her shadow, catching the aftermath of her mistakes and being made to act better because of it. She had done her best to keep him safe from the manipulations of the Empire, and now he was being thrown into the grasp of Gar Saxon, a political animal of great danger. She wouldn't blame her younger brother for taking out his fear and frustration on her. Instead, when their eyes met, Sabine saw only anxiety and uncertainty.

 _I don't know what to do_ , was what those eyes told. They pleaded for guidance, for advice, for anything that would alleviate the pressure coiling around his neck like a noose.

All she could do was close the space between them and pull him into a tight hug, which he returned just as fiercely. Here they were, the two prized children of Clan Wren, being sent out into the galaxy towards unknown destinations. In the past, sometimes all they ever had was each other to count on for support. This time, they'd be lightyears apart, traversing unknown waters without anyone's guidance.

Despite that, Sabine could still give him some advice.

Easing back from their hug, she looked him in eyes, set her jaw firmly, and told him, "They won't break you. They'll _never_ break you. No matter what."

The words had the intended effect; his own gaze hardened, and he nodded.

With that settled, Sabine left her brother to his thoughts and proceeded forward, head held high, and determined to make sure those same words applied to her.

When she emerged from the estate and stepped out into the courtyard, her parents, five head turned to regard her. Her parents positioned near the steps, Viceroy Gar Saxon waiting off to the side, and the two Inquisitors were situated at a distance. They were very much shadows, out of the way but ever present.

Taking a deep breath, she descended the steps and met her parents near the base. Her father patted her on the shoulder, his gaze calm and assuring, though still tinged with worry. Her mother nodded stiffly toward her and Sabine pretended she didn't catch the hint of concern in her gaze. Such things didn't suit the Countess of Clan Wren. Silently, she proceeded towards her unknown future.

"Sabine," greeted the Viceroy with his politician's smile. "I must reiterate my disappointment that we will not be working together to ensure Mandalore's continued prosperity. But I've no doubt that you do your clan and people proud in service to our Empire."

 _Go space yourself,_ she wanted to tell him, but instead responded with a smile, "Of course, Viceroy, I am honored to serve in the name of Mandalore."

Saxon nodded approvingly, "Glad hear it, good luck child."

Sabine then moved to greet the final two figures standing at the edge of the courtyard. Cloaked in the shadow of the trees, the Grand Inquisitor's golden eyes stood out eerily as they watched her. His only greeting was brief nod before pivoting on his foot and marching forward. The young Mandalorian glanced at the Seventh Brother, who regarded silently through his visor. The only acknowledgment he gave was an inclination of his helmeted head in the direction of the Pau'an. Quickly, she realized he was waiting for her to move forward, which she did, with the Seventh Brother taking up the rear.

Her chest ached with the knowledge that she had no clue when she would return home to her family, and the part of her that was frightened and unsure wanted to look back and etch the image of her home into her mind. But Sabine wasn't about to give the Inquisitors a demonstration of weakness, so she kept her face forward and marched on without a word.

Eventually, they came upon two ships. The first being a standard Imperial TIE Fighter, customized to fit the Grand Inquisitor, and the second came as a surprise to her. It was also apparently a surprise to her partner as well.

"Is that a Mandalorian fighter?" the Seventh Brother asked.

"Indeed," the Pau'an answered. "As of now, consider this your base of operations. From this ship, you will carry out whatever missions assigned to by myself or the Empire. To ensure the maximum success of this experiment, the two of you are expected to live aboard this vessel."

 _You've got to be kidding me_ , thought Sabine.

"This fighter, dubbed the _Shadow Force,_ is outfitted with the latest technology jointly developed between Mandalore and the Empire. Lady Wren, I noticed that your piloting skills are well suited for ships of this class."

"Yes sir," she nodded.

"Good," he said. "I was worried that left to the Seventh Brother's care, this ship wouldn't survive the first week."

"I can pilot just fine," growled the younger Imperial.

"A TIE maybe, but this navigation system aboard is bit too advanced for you."

"Hmph," the Seventh crossed his arms.

"In any event, it will get you to first assignment quickly enough," the Grand Inquisitor explained. "You will find a debrief ready aboard. Good luck and may your success bring further prosperity to our glorious Empire."

Without another word, the Pau'an departed for his ship, leaving Sabine and the Seventh Brother to size each other up.

"First things first," the Imperial sighed. "Your armor. Change it."

"What?" she said, turning to him fully for the first time.

"I know you people like to announce yourselves to the galaxy, but these missions will go much more smoothly if we operate on a stealth-first basis. Which means you'll have to wear something less conspicuous."

She couldn't help the words that came out next, "Because your outfit screams 'inconspicuous'?"

The Seventh tilted his head at her remark and she felt her cheeks flush. She had told herself not to let him rile her up, but as much as she wanted to get through this with as little trouble as possible, she was still a Mandalorian. And she still had some pride left.

She was about to offer an apology when the Seventh Brother noted, "So you've got bite, after all. At least I know you're not boring."

She could only gape after him as he headed for the ship.

"Let's just hope your skills are as sharp as your tongue."

Sabine frowned at him, "Don't worry, they are."


	3. Chapter 3

Sabine settled into the pilot's chair, inputting the necessary data, and took control as the _Shadow Force_ 's engines spin up. The imperial fighter rose from the ground, scattering the snow and leaving a bare patch of land in the forests outside the estate. With a final look towards her ancestral home, Sabine maneuvered the ship upward and left Krownest behind. The knot in her stomach tightens as the grey sky fades into black space. It reminded her of when she first left home to attend the Imperial Academy on Mandalore. In that moment, her mother's words come back to her.

 _Never show them weakness, Sabine._

As cruel and harsh as those words had been, it was advice which served her well in the early days of her training. It was the reason she'd managed to stand out among her peers as prospect of great potential. The very reason she was chosen to aid in Project Black Sword.

Shaking away those bothersome thoughts, the Mandalorian focused on navigating the blackness before her while remaining aware of the person currently inspecting the rest of the ship. The Seventh Brother had quickly chosen the room closest to the hanger as his own. Sabine couldn't help noticing it would also put him between her and the escape pods, not that she intended to run. Since their initial departure, the Inquisitor busied himself with learning every inch of their new home.

Much as she preferred the distance between them, now wasn't the time for personal space.

"Seventh Brother," she spoke into the intercom. "Now that we've familiarized ourselves with the ship, I think it's time we discussed our first mission."

"Agreed," he said. "Set the ship to autopilot and meet me in the galley."

Punching in the sequence, Sabine waited for _Shadow Force_ to settle itself before moving to meet her partner. _Partner_. The more she rolled that word around in her head, the less she liked the idea. A partner was someone you could trust, a person who could be relied upon to have your back when the blasters come out. How was she supposed to trust someone whose face she hadn't even seen?

Besides, the last person she trusted was…

The hiss of the door forced her to think on present matters as the Seventh Brother stood waiting for her. She joined him by the holonet table, where the debrief waited. As she did so, Sabine took a moment to analyze the ship's interior. The artist in her wailed pitifully at how utterly bland everything was, but that was the Empire. Devoid of anything resembling emotion and operating like the droids they mass-produced.

Seventh opened the file and they stood back as hologram of Grand Moff Tarkin appeared before them. A hologram it may have been, but the steely countenance of the Outer Rim's governor was well conveyed.

"Greetings Seventh Brother and Commander Wren," the replica began. "And congratulations on being chosen to pioneer what many hope to be a major step towards strengthening the relationship between the Empire and Mandalore. Regretfully, my duties require my presence elsewhere, otherwise I would be there to brief you both in person, as this is a matter where failure is not an option."

"Is it ever?" said the Seventh.

The hologram continued, "Your first mission will require the utmost in discretion since the opposition you face will undoubtedly be great. No doubt, you are familiar with Saw Gerrara and his Partitions. Since its inception, the Empire and its citizens have been plagued by brazen and unprovoked acts of terror spearheaded by Gerrera. He has left countless casualties in his wake, both military and civilian. And those who surrender without a fight are subject to extensive and horrendous torture. Even those sympathetic to this "Rebel" cause denounce him as a criminal.

"As the years have gone by, his terrorism has only grown more and more extreme, and if our current intelligence is to be believed, he is about to launch an attack that would deal a critical blow to the Empire. The Seventh Fleet have reported that a significant amount of the pesticides used to deal with the Geonosian menace were stolen several weeks ago. Our spies within Rebel cells have tell us Gerrera plans to unleash the gas at the next Imperial gala, set to be held three days from the time you should be watching this recording. Several high-ranking military officers and senators will be attending the event. And the fact that it is being held on Gerrera's native world of Onderon only increases the likelihood of an attack.

"Your objective is as follows: prevent these terrorists from unleashing the gas, and if Saw Gerrera himself in present, you have leave to execute on sight. Good luck and may you bring victory and glory to the Empire."

The hologram flickered off and Sabine stood there, allowing the information to sink in and a variety of plans to form in her head. Saw Gerrera and his tactics had been a subject of study in her classes and the Academy. Upon the creation of the Empire, Onderon was the first of many worlds that rose up in defiance of this new regime. The subsequent five years of resistance resulted in the planet's complete surrender in the face of the Empire's might. Senator Lux Bonteri was meant to mediate a peace resolution between the royal family of Onderon and Empire's liaisons.

But the talks never occurred as a massive bomb went off in the city capital, killing some eight thousand, Bonteri, the royal family, and the liaisons among them. Just hours later, Saw Gerrera claimed full responsibility for the attack and from then on, he became a massive thorn in side of the Imperial machine. Though the broader structures of his plans changed over the years, the basics remained consistent. The question was how best they could use this against their enemies.

"Strange," she murmured.

"What's that?" the Seventh Brother asked.

"Just thinking out loud," she said. "It's odd that the Grand Moff considers Gerrera to be anything more than a nuisance."

"Oh?"

"It's just that for the past decade and a half, Saw Gerrera's led attack after attack on Imperial bases, usually ones boasting the lowest guard and having the smallest significance. It's annoying, I'm sure, but never something that warranted attention from this high up in command. And even if that were the case, why order him to be executed?"

"He's a threat," he said. His tone suggested they were thinking the same thing, but he was testing to see if she had reached the same conclusions.

"If the Empire wanted Saw dead, they'd have gotten rid of him years ago," Sabine continued. "It wouldn't have been the first time either. They could have sent anyone form Imperial High Command or even the Inquisition to put him down. And all of this could have been done before Saw gathered his followers."

"Which means the Empire let Saw live this long," the Seventh Brother replied. "That much is obvious, Wren."

"But why?" she frowned. "What possible good could come from allowing someone like Saw to grow into the threat he is today?"

"None," the Inquisitor crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "For the Empire or Rebel sympathizers. Like you said, Gerrera's a nuisance, but he serves a purpose. His attacks provide evidence for why the Empire is necessary and hurt the cause of any potential rebellion."

"And a few dead assets are a small price to pay in the long run," Sabine shook her head. To a cadet fresh out of the Academy, they would have been shocked at the news, but the young Mandalorian had long ago learned of the lengths Imperials would go to get what they wanted. She thought about further, "But it begs the question: Why care about casualties now? If anything, letting the attack happen with minimal resistance would make for great propaganda."

"It would," the Seventh said. "Not to mention, if Imperial Command caught wind of the attack, they'd probably have their spies leak the information to suspected Rebels in the hopes of flushing them out and leading them into a trap. Which means that something about this Gala is important."

"The Grand Moff is attending?" she suggested. "But he could always cancel, say that his responsibilities are keeping him from attending. It would seem suspect in the aftermath, but I doubt he cares about public approval."

"Either way," the Inquisitor shrugged. "We've got our mission. Let's figure out a plan."

 **II**

Sabine knelt on the edge of the cliff overlooking the capital of city of Onderon, the streets lit brightly by spotlights and given life by the Imperial Anthem echoing into the night. A myriad of military personnel and senators arrived amidst the fanfare, offering their practiced smiles and false enjoyments. The image might have been enough to convince one that all of this was more than just a show where beings came only to flaunt their status or latch onto whomever wielded the most influence at the moment. Above the city, Star Destroyers hovered harmlessly above, a simple reminder of the protection (and threat) the Empire offered.

They had tucked the _Shadow Force_ neatly away among the cliffs bordering the city and set about on their mission. For the sake of discretion—and to put an end to the Seventh Brother's critical stares—Sabine had changed out of her armor and donned the set which had been waiting for her in the galley upon their arrival. Decorated in the black, grey, and white Imperial colors, the armor itself seemed a marriage between the sets worn by the Inquisition and the Supercommandos. Much as she despised the look (from an artistic and moral standpoint), she conceded being more than impressed with the HUD and its routines.

Beside her, the Seventh Brother watched the parade of Imperials with what she assumed to be the same level of disgust. He dropped to his knees and joined her, "What's the security look like?"

"Large enough for assurance, but small enough to invite trouble," she replied.

"Any noticeable gaps?" he asked.

"You remember how our briefing came with a detailed schematic of the security measures for tonight? There's less security the further you get from the city, which is standard procedure for planets not under blockade. The largest gap I could find would have Gerrera and his men setting up camp near the mountains. The only part I can't figure out is where he would—"

"Bring up the schematic on your HUD," the Inquisitor said. "Focus on Sector 5. Those mountains were used by Onderon resistance during the Clone Wars. If Saw's feeling sentimental, he'll set up shop there."

"Copy that," Sabine rose from her perch and turned toward the forest, where they would have to continue on-foot to reach the mountains in time to stop Gerrera. _I really wish I had a jetpack right about now._

"Don't worry about it," the Seventh said. "I put in a call to ISB and had them leave some speeders for us at the base below."

"What?" Sabine blinked, letting her mind process her partner's words. The implication in them was clear as day and it made her skin crawl. In her days at the Academy, she'd spent several days studying the Jedi and their ways from whatever sources were available (the Empire was more than willing to erase any knowledge of the Old Republic it deemed unimportant, including the Jedi) and often, her studies led to thoughts and ideas regarding the Force. It was said that Force Advents could do nearly anything, from controlling another's will to dragging a ship out of the sky. There were exaggerations, of course, but a few reports detailing the exploits of the Jedi suggested they were at least capable of using the power of suggestion.

Everyone in the galaxy had heard of the "Jedi Mind Trick" and some even swear to have been a victim of it from time to time. The idea of reaching into another's mind and bending their will to your own was an unsettling thought. What the Seventh Brother had just done left her feeling exposed in ways her warrior's pride rallied against. The Inquisitor had just _read her mind_. That itself was bad enough, but the fact he'd done it without her even noticing…

 _Never show them weakness, Sabine._

Her mother's words set ablaze to something dangerous within her.

"Hey," she snapped, halting the Seventh in his stride. When he turned to face, she removed her helmet so he could look her in the eye. So he could read her body language and know that she wasn't afraid. She leveled a glare at him that was surely a perfect mirror of her mother's. "Never do that again."

Seventh Brother tilted his head, "Whatever do you—"

"Don't play games with me," Sabine stepped forward. "Let's clear the air. We don't like each other, we didn't want this mission, and I'm sure we'd both rather be anywhere than here right now. We may have to work together, but that doesn't mean you can pry into my head. So, let me make myself clear: you do that again, and I'll open up your head with my WESTARS, got it?"

The Seventh Brother stood there, silently appraising her, for what seemed like forever. Sabine managed to keep up her external façade, while her stomach churned with fear of his next move. Once again, she'd let her emotions guide (too little, too late, a voice said in her mind) and now she could only wait for his reply.

"Fine," he said suddenly, turning on his heel and continuing toward the base of the mountain.

When he was out of sight, Sabine let out the breath she'd been holding; after steeling herself, she followed him.


	4. Chapter 4

The Seventh Brother felt at peace.

The forests of Onderon were completely shadowed in darkness, masking their approach towards the canyon region where Gerrera's forces were likely to be. Their speeders, outfitted with sounds dampeners by the ISB, whispered in sync with the sounds of the forest at night. For the young Inquisitor, these respites from a constant state of anger and fear were too few, and he savored them whenever he could. As it was often the prelude to some new bout of conflict bound to meet a chaotic end. For the time being, he admired the view like an art critic eyeing some fancy new piece.

 _Speaking of art…_

The Seventh chanced a glance at his Mandalorian partner; if she'd noticed him watching her, she was doing a good job ignoring it. Through the Force, he could feel the anxiety and anticipation of battle coming off her in waves. If he probed deeper, he would probably find something else, but her earlier warning gave him pause.

She was not the first person whose thoughts he scanned through the Force, simply the first to not recoil in absolute terror. For anyone else, such a grave display of an Inquisitor's power invited compliance and docility. But this girl, this Sabine Wren, had quickly overcome her shock and promised him a swift death in reply. Maybe it was the Mandalorian in her, but it kept him thinking the entire way there. And now he was conflicted.

For the Seventh Brother, gleaming someone's personality through the Force was the best way to know their strengths and weaknesses. To the Force, all of one's self was laid bare. Nothing was hidden, no matter how hard you tried (a fact he'd learned the hard way). But what truly intrigued him were the reactions. Some were angry, like Wren, but knew better than to threaten; some were fearful and kept their distance; the rest didn't matter. Something about Wren's defiance struck a chord in him and he was both hesitant and eager to strike one in her. But that was something for later; right now, he needed to focus on the mission.

Their speeders came to a halt just as the forest ended and the canyons began. Dismounting his ride, the Inquisitor pulled up a map of the area on his wrist communicator. Time to see if Saw was being guided by nostalgia.

During the Clone Wars, the Onderon rebels had taken up residence in the canyons to wage their war with the Separatist figure head who'd been put in charge of the planet. The forces, led by the Gerrera's sister, Steela, used the terrain to mask their movements and slip in and out of the capital city to make their attacks. A simple but effective strategy which had garnered the respect of the Jedi war hero Anakin Skywalker. The Jedi had even journeyed to the planet to train the rebels into making more of an impact.

When the Empire rose to power, Onderon had offered only the briefest resistance before they were brought to heel. In response, Gerrera and other like-minded beings started raiding supply routes, bombing station within the city, and planting rotten seeds of rebellion. Without the restraining hand of Steela, Saw and his forces incurred more civilian casualties than military. And it didn't take long for public opinion on Onderon to shift away from the Partisans. A deeper look into those times would have revealed that each target, previously the most heavily guarded regions of the capital city, saw a decrease in military activity shortly before each attack. A simple, yet effective strategy; in matter of months, public perception of the Imperial occupation changed, while Gerrera alienated himself from his own people.

The Seventh Brother studied the canyons, which reminded him of the canyons on his own home world, if the pictures he'd seen once as a child were anything to go on. According to the data in the mission debrief, the Onderon rebels' camp from the old Clone Wars days was settled deep into the canyon. If they were prevent this attack, they would have to strike while the Partisans were still setting things up.

"They're nested deep into the canyons," the Seventh Brother pulled up the holomap from his wrist device. "Gerrera must be feeling nostalgic, they're probably holed up in the same location they used during the Clone Wars."

"More than likely," Wren agreed. "It's an ideal position to launch a series of attacks from. Deep in the canyons where only people familiar with the terrain stood a chance of finding them. Even if that were the case, there's an unlimited number of places to set a trap or spring an ambush along the way."

"That admiration I hear, Wren?"

"An _observation_ ," she snapped. "The Empire may have let him live this long, but let's not pretend Gerrera's still isn't a threat. Especially now, when he poised to deal the largest blow ever against them. Think about it, in every attack he's carried out, what's the one thing they all have in common?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me."

"Opportunity," she turned to face him. "Every attack has been on a target of opportunity. Saw's rarely had a chance to plan out something of this magnitude. And I doubt he's going to waste the opportunity to deal such a critical blow against the Empire by acting rashly."

The Inquisitor considered her words and decided that she might have a point.

"So all we need to do if find Gerrera and stop him," he said. "Sounds simple enough. We have the location of the rebel base from these old maps. What are we waiting for?"

The Mandolorian nodded as they mounted their speeders and entered the canyon, following a route previously picked out by the ISB. The canyon flew by in a blurring twist of stone along the way. They ducked under passes, rounded corners, and flew over gaps before reaching the predetermined stopping point. From here, they would abandon their speeders and proceed on foot.

The Seventh took point, visor scanning the ground for any recent activity; he found mixing patterns of footprints melding together. The grounds varying degrees of disturbance and depression told a story. He was able to make out at least a dozen sets of prints. A small enough force to sneak in undetected, but large enough to carry out their plan. So it was the two of them versus twelve Partisans, including Saw Gerrera himself.

If nothing else, this mission wasn't boring.

 **II**

Saw peered down into the canyon, overcome with memories; memories of climbing the stony region when he was younger; of the picnics his family enjoyed here; of the shared laughter and joy to be had.

Of Steela's body lying motionless on the ground.

Had it really been so long ago? To Saw Gerrera, that moment refreshed itself in his memory so many times that it felt like just yesterday. That was the moment it all changed for him, when the only person he loved—would ever love—was taken from him. Not by the Empire, or even the occupying forces of Separatists, but due to the inexperience of some foolish Jedi. He could only remember a brief peace as Onderon rebuilt itself before the Galactic Republic fell and the shadow of the Empire rose from its ruins.

And just like that, Saw and his people were fighting against a new tyranny, this one born from the same government who'd helped them gain freedom. Which was how they knew what to expect and where to strike first. It hadn't been long before the newly senator to Onderon, Lux Bonteri, negotiated a peace between the government of Onderon and the minions of the Empire. To think that Saw had once considered that coward a brother. What Steela saw in that spineless man he would never understand.

From there, the shadow spread across Onderon until Saw found himself again on the outside, fighting for a people so easily kowtowed. Eventually, they turned on him as well, all but officially exiling him from their docile little lives. His leaving was inevitable, really, but at least he'd dealt a crushing blow to the Empire and made an example of that traitor Bonteri.

Over the years, he and his men travelled the galaxy, and in each system, fought against tyranny in whatever form it took. Steadily his numbers grew and Saw found that he was not as alone in the universe as he thought. The men and women who fought by his side helped to fill the void left by Steela's death. No, he thought, that was unfair to both his Partisans and his sister. No one could take her place; rather, the soldiers at his side created places for themselves in his heart.

They fought for him, and he would die for them.

Some called them extremists, even those who proclaimed to sympathize with the Rebellion's cause. People born with silver spoons in their mouths, who'd never once had to set foot on a battlefield, who had enjoyed the comforts of privilege while Saw and his men toiled in the trenches. People like Mon Mothma and Bail Organa.

Saw's lip curled derisively as the thought of those politicians, those parasitic hypocrites who gladly took credit for the efforts of men like Saw. Who turned the sacrifices of the people into propaganda so that they might convince their bureaucrats of the Rebellion's virtue. In his eyes, they were as guilty as Palpatine himself, a view which made him unpopular and unwelcome in the presence of his fellow rebels.

But that didn't matter; none of it mattered now. In just a few short hours, he and his Partisans would strike a devastating blow to the Empire. Tonight, Onderon was playing host to the fascists and their envoys. And tonight, they were know the wrathful hand of Rebellion as their lives would be snuffed out, not in a blaze of glory but whimper of flame.

Saw inhaled the scent of his home world and he could practically sniff out the oppression in the air emanating from the capital city. His lips curled in disgust at the Star Destroyers sitting idly in the skies above. But a flare of amusement bloomed in his chest as he thought of how helpless they would be once his plan was carried out. With a deep sigh, he lifted the bouquet of flowers in hand.

"Steela," he sighed. "I know what you must be thinking. I know you probably wouldn't approve of the things I've done. Of the methods we've used. But I need you to understand that everything, all of this, was for Onderon. For you."

He stared into the dark abyss, as if expecting an answer.

"I'm not going to debate with you. I'm not going to say that everything I've done has been right, but I know it was _necessary_. Things are worst than ever, if only could see it. Some days, I'm almost glad you didn't. I want you to remember our home as it used to be. Before the Empire, before the Clone Wars, before every terrible thing that happened."

He reached out his arm and dropped the bouquet into the dark abyss, falling as Steela did that fateful day so long ago.

"I love you, Steela. I always will."

Saw wiped away the tears burning his eyes and steeled himself, blanching his face and moving back to the encampment. He'd been surprised that no one had ever found this place in years he'd been away. The Empire had probably been too arrogant to consider it a top priority and he'd done his best to erase all data of its whereabouts from their servers. Still, it had been a risk coming here, even with a small a force as this.

The importance of this mission, what it would mean for the Rebellion going forward, was too great to risk on large force. That would draw too much attention, so he picked twelve of his best soldiers to join him. It reminded him of how the Onderon resistance had first formed, a small band of freedom fighters standing against the tyrannical force gripping their home.

"Saw," a voice to his right growled. "We're almost ready."

He glanced over and met the emerald gaze of his second-in-command for the operation, Rudra. A Lasat of considerable age, Rudra towered over nearly everyone here, but always managed to keep his approaches a secret. Such talent had served them well over the years, giving them an element of surprise over their enemies. Rudra knew better than most the price for letting fascists have their way.

He'd once been a member of the Lasan Royal Guard, charged with protecting the royal family. When the Empire came, their king had stood in proud defiance of the tyrants and their conquest. Not long after, war broke out and the extent of the Empire's cruelty was unveiled. Now, Rudra couldn't say how many Lasats still roamed the galaxy; he feared the number grew smaller with each passing day.

Rudra had been unable to save his home, but he'd given Saw his word of honor that he would fight to see Onderon freed. More than that, however, Rudra's friendship was one of Saw's most valued possessions.

"Good," Saw patted him on the shoulder. "How much longer?"

"Another half-hour at least," Rudra scanned the skies above, rumbling in displeasure at the Star Destroyers. "The gala should be well underway. Once we've got everything set up, we should be able to strike."

Saw nodded, "Nervous?"

"Excited," the Lasat chuckled. "The very thought of watching those Imps choke on their own gas tickles me pink."

Saw grinned coolly, "I know what you mean. We've been planning for this day for a long time. We must ensure nothing goes wrong."

"I know," Rudra gestured behind him with his head, "So do they. Trust me, Saw, this will be day none of us forget."

 **III**

Sabine darted her eyes around the canyon as she and the Inquisitor neared the first checkpoint. The scarceness of Saw's men gave them ample opportunity to sneak through to the heart of the camp. They'd met with no resistance thus far, but that was bound to change the closer they got. The warrior in her was eager for a fight; if nothing else, it would help ease the stress that had been building since the mission's start. Sabine feared that any longer and she'd burst from the melting pot of excitement, anxiety, fear, and determination mixing in her stomach right now.

If the Seventh Brother sensed any of this—and she was sure that he did—he made no mention of it, probably his way of adhering to her threat from earlier. That he'd been able to read her so plainly without her realizing still unsettled her. Such an imbalance in their burgeoning partnership left her frustrated. What would he do with the information he'd gleamed from her already?

Pushing those thoughts as far away as possible, she focused on hurrying along the path ISB had laid out for them. The checkpoint was just ahead, and she reached down to brush a hand over her blasters as they approached. Soon, they stopped just ahead of a makeshift guard station, where two figures sat in waiting.

Saw had taken no chances in selecting his men, as the pair before them seemed ready to strike at the slightest disturbance. The first a Weequay holding a sniper rifle, slowly scanned along the area, targeting beam passing just over them. The second was a human female wearing a Scout Trooper helmet, painted a deep gray. She carried a standard rifle blaster and paced back and forth, an animal ready to lash out.

"Anyone else approaching?" the Seventh Brother asked.

"No," Sabine scanned along with her visor. "I'm not picking up any movement beyond the guard post. It's just the two of them."

"Right," the Seventh crouched down. "What's the plan?"

"We need to take them both out at the same time,' Sabine offered.

"Obviously." Sabine could practically hear the roll of his eyes in that tone, but ignored it, doing minor calculations in her head. The female Partisan kept moving back and forth, while the Weequay did a routine scan of the area with his scope. In that moment, Sabine stripped them of their sentience and considered them as nothing more than patterns. One was frantic and desiring of a battle, the other was serene and waiting for the fight to come to them. That would be the who would think to call for backup. So he would be the first to—

 _Die_ , she thought, throat tightening at the idea.

Whatever feelings she had on the subject, she pocketed them away and focused on her mission.

"Okay," she turned to the Inquisitor. "Here's the plan."


	5. Chapter 5

The end for the guards came swifly.

Wren's plan had been simple—draw the attention of the agitated Partisan and take out the Weequay. It was almost child's play.

The Seventh Brother opted for the female, locking onto her through the Force. The woman paced about like a caged mother Frynock, champing at the bit for a taste. Her anxious desire for battle reminded him of those in the Inquisition far more eager to please their masters than he was.

Seventh found a ledge that would guide him along a path to the guard station unseen. Lowering himself, he stalked along the ridge, mindful of Wren's presence and anxiety. She might hail from a warrior culture, but he could sense the air about her tine with the unmistakable nervousness common to all cadets their first mission out. Whether it was the mission's circumstances or magnitude of the weight placed upon their shoulders, the Inquisitor couldn't be bothered to decide—or care. Perhaps it was the impending reality of what her oath to both Mandalore and the Empire demanded she do. That when she acted on her cue, she would join the ranks of those who brought "glory to the Empire".

Had it not been suppressed within him long ago, the Seventh might have pitied her.

 _No time for that now_ , he thought as he stopped.

Above him, the crunch of the guard's boots marked the position of his target along the stone bridge, growing softer the further away she moved. When the crunch became a soft chew, the Inquisitor picked up a rock and tossed it overhead. The soft _thunk_ halted the Partisan in her tracks. After a beat of silence, the boots crunched their way to his location. Safely blanketed in shadow, the Seventh watched as the guard's rifle peeked over the ridge. The nervous energy from before flared even stronger, mixed with an anxious hunger for battle.

"What is it?" the Weequay asked.

"I heard something," she replied.

"It's probably the wind."

"Wind can't throw rocks."

The weequay snorted but said nothing more. The female Partisan waited a moment, peering into the darkness beneath, before turning away. That was when he struck. The Seventh Brother reached out with the Force and seized her. Before she could react, he flung her forward and over the edge. Watching her body twist helplessly in the air, the Seventh caught the barest hint of her expression before the darkness swallowed her. Above him, the shuffling of the Weequay was interrupted by the report of Wren's WESTAR, timed in perfect unison with the fireworks, signaling the start of the gala.

When he felt the thud of the weequay's body on the ground, the Inquisitor hoisted himself over the ridge. He stopped just short of the Partisan. The frozen expression on his face registered surprise and bewilderment, punctuated by the single burn mark on his forehead. The Seventh studied the sight for a moment, then turned to see Sabine Wren emerging from the darkness.

Though she could hide her face behind a helmet, he noted the tension coiling around her body. Her arms remained stiffly at her side, right hand gripping the still-smoking blaster tight enough to whiten her knuckles were they visible. Beyond that, the Seventh Brother could feel her conflict of emotion through the Force.

He'd watched enough cadets to gauge their reactions to first-time kills and categorized them into three descriptions.

The ambitious didn't see another sentience life form; rather they only registered an obstacle on their climb to the top. One they had gladly removed.

The ones who lacked a spine for this kind of work (otherwise known as potential risks) almost always lost it the first time. Shortly after that came defection.

Those who walked the lines in between stomached their disgust at being apart of the imperial machine. They were the types who preferred to keep their heads down, lest they be forced into more missions like this.

Suffice to say, Wren was like him—sans the disgust—and inhabited the space in between.

He gave her a moment to compose herself, turning away to stare at the path ahead of them.

"Two down, Wren," he said. "Just a little more and we can be done with this whole affair."

Behind him, the Seventh heard her breathe deeply.

"Lead the way."

 **II**

Rudra watched the sky flash as the fireworks ascended and exploded in myriads of color. He couldn't help being reminded of the harvest festival during the winter months of Lasan, when the royal family would proudly uphold the traditions of their people. In comparison to most worlds, Harvest was less about the growth of crops and more a celebration of the people's hard work. The royals were nothing without their devoted subjects, and the citizens were aimless without their king and queen's guiding hands. But for as many great memories the thought brought him, the crushing reality of his new life was multiplied ten-fold.

It had been shortly after Harvest when the Empire arrived, demanding the royal family's fealty. What followed afterward tore at his heart the more he thought about it. His people, a once proud race of warriors, famers, philosophers and more dwindled down to scarce few hundred.

Rudra shook his head, sorrow replaced with the anger which had taken hold of him long ago; the Empire and all who served it would suffer the pain of Lasan a thousand times over. Of that, he would personally make sure.

Pulling his gaze away from the sky, he unclipped the commlink from his belt, "All posts, check in."

"Outpost 1, all clear."

"Outpost 2, nothing out here."

Rudra waited a beat.

"Outpost 3, check in."

Silence.

A growl rumbled in his chest, hairs all over his body standing straighter than the blade resting at his side. Saw had chosen each of the men for this op because they were quick to action. For a mission of such importance, they couldn't afford any fresh-faced recruits eager to avenge some hurt inflicted upon them by the Empire. For that reason, he and Rudra had placed their most seasoned fighters at Outpost 3. Some would argue it made little sense to put assets of great value in the front line. But Rudra knew they could count on their Weequay to respond quickly to danger and call in for backup.

If they weren't answering, something must have gone wrong.

"Outpost 3," he tried again, "I repeat, check in."

The resulting silence ignited the fires within him, "Outpost 2, see what's going on; Outpost 1, get ready to fall back."

"Copy."

"Roger."

The Lasat started toward the encampment, heart thundering in his chest. The Imps had found them. He couldn't be sure how, but they had. Rudra felt his entire body tighten in anticipation for the fight to come. Truthfully, he was thankful for the opportunity to kill some of Palpatine's minions now. Each one dead meant another Lasat avenged.

When he reached the camp, the others took notice of his posture and demeanor and quickly sprang into action. Blasters and rifles were snatched up as signals were quietly relayed to avoid alerting the enemy. Rudra watched as Saw emerged from one of the caves and surveyed the situation. Lips curling and eyes hardening, he moved forward to meet Rudra.

"What is it?"

"Don't know," the Lasat replied. "Outpost 3 isn't checking in. Could be nothing, or maybe the Imperial have found us and are marching in on our location. Either, better to prep for the worst."

Saw nodded, "If it were a large force, they'd have taken us by now. Might just be a small squad. Either way, we're stuck here."

Rudra nodded solemnly; they couldn't risk moving the pesticide without making themselves a huge target. If they were to succeed, this latest threat would have to be snuffed out. A plan began to formulate in his mind. Without an exact knowledge of the enemy's number and current position, there wasn't much he could do. But he was a member of the Royal Honor Guard of Lasan; each man there was worth an entire squad.

The hiss of his commlink pulled him from his thoughts.

"Sir," came the voice of the second outpost leader. "We have eyes on the enemy. There's only one in sight, but he's—"

The voice cut off as a sound foreign to Rudra crackled in the silence. Glancing at Saw, he watched his friend's scowl melt away as something dawned on him. Before he could question it, the radio exploded with the sounds of battle.

"By the gods, it's a—"

Another sound, this one he recognized all too well—the groan of man dying and the thud of his body against the ground. Rudra felt his heart lurch in his chest as the silence reigned. The rational side of him knew what happened, but he didn't want to believe. They'd come to far for the Empire to snatch this victory away from them. Not this close to the end.

"Outpost 2, come in!"

The was a click and a voice answered, "You have one chance. Stand and be spared. Or stay the course and be wiped from the galaxy."

Rudra let out a shuddering breath, all the familiar emotions waging a war inside of him. Grief, anger, and anticipation. He'd been waiting for a fight. So very kind of the Imps to bring it to them.

Grasping the commlink, he growled, "Come and get us, Imperial dog."

With that, he tossed the commlink on to the ground and reached around his back, bringing his bo-rifle to bear. With a look at Saw, he could still trace the fear etched in his face, but it had also been schooled in favor of battle readiness.

"You know what we're up against?"

It was a statement masked as a question. Saw met his eyes and let out humorless laugh.

"I didn't expect them so send an Inquisitor."

 **III**

Sabine finished gathering some of the tools left behind by the Partisans the Seventh Brother dispatched. She tried to ignore the stench of burnt flesh as they prepared to leave. She hadn't seen him kill them, only heard the hiss of his saber and the sounds of flesh by torn apart. To her surprise, he'd opted for quick deaths for them both. She remembered in her brief studies into the Inquisition during her Academy days just how the Inquisitors operated. Almost nothing was left of the people the Empire deemed worthy of death.

Much like Mandalore, the Imperial Inquisition maintained a certain amount of autonomy under the Empire's scrutiny. Many of them were free to operate how they saw fit in entire star systems, so long as their interests never compromised the mission. The few images she'd managed to find detailing the aftermath of some of their ops suggested they greatly appreciated this freedom. Some of the things they'd done would have warranted a court marital in a fair universe. Even her own people would have been disgusted by what she'd seen.

But the Seventh Brother didn't seem to care about inflicting as much suffering as possible. He cared only about efficiency. Which showed in the aftermath.

Both guards had been killed with a single strike of his saber. Quick and easy (except for them). The Inquisitor found no pleasure in his kills. He was different from what she expected.

He'd just finished taunting Gerrera's remaining forces when he turned to her, "They know we're coming, you ready for a fight."

Sabine set her jaw, "Why'd you alert them to our presence."

"They already knew something was amiss when the outpost didn't check in.

She crossed her arms, "Then we should have taken one of their comms with us and answered when they hailed us."

"Maybe," he shrugged. "But you aren't considering that Gerrara's not messing around this time. He likely chose his men in part because he knows them well enough. The woman and the weequay were older than both of us, and it would have shown in their voices had we bothered to hear them speak. And unless you're carrying a synthesizer on you, trying to check in would have only gave away our position sooner."

Sabine sighed; he was right. And she knew because the very same thought occurred to her.

"You're on edge," the Seventh mused.

She turned toward him sharply, hand on her blaster.

"None of that, now," he raised his hands placatingly. "I don't need to the Force to know that. You've been like it since the first station. You're torn over killing the weequay. Well, don't be. He wasn't like the fairy tale rebels you've heard about. He's as much a killer as you and me. In the fair and just galaxy these rebels drone on about, he'd be court martialed for the things he's done under Gerrera's orders."

Sabine huffed arms tightening to conceal herself from his probing stare, "This the most I've heard you say at once."

The Inquisitor crossed his arms, mirroring her posture, "I'm just trying to get your head back in the game, Wren. Last thing I need is you having a crisis of faith and turning on me."

Behind her helmet, Sabine was free to smirk mirthlessly, "Don't worry. If I ever turn on you, it won't be to side with Gerrera. I'd have loftier standards than that."

To her surprise, he snorted; not in derision, but seemingly genuine amusement.

Out of everything that happened in the past few days, _this_ seemed like the most bizarre thing for her to witness. And it made her pause. They were on a mission of significant importance—whose result may decide their fates—and had just killed four people (technically, he'd killed three and she had shot one). Yet here they were, trading banter like any other day.

The Seventh Brother must have noted the absurdity of their situation as well. He composed himself and stared at her for a moment. Clearing his throat, he pivoted on his foot and moved onward.

Taking the cue, she followed his lead and readied herself for the battle to come.

They passed another station along the way, this one entirely abandoned. They knew what it meant; they were close to the camp, where the gas was located. Where Saw Gerrera was waiting for them. Just beyond, she could hear the shuffling of people.

This would be it, the moment this little experiment had been conceived for. She, a Mandalorian, and her partner, an Inquisitor were tasked with stopping Saw right here. Including him, there were eight hostiles awaiting their approach. To a lesser soldier, these might seem intimidating. But her warrior spirit waited anxiously for the challenge.

As they moved closer, Sabine noted the hurried steps and hushed voices up ahead. Now she understood the point of the Seventh's call. To instill them with a fear of impending attack. Saw Gerrera and his men might exude bravado, and some may even be suicidal. But the idea of what they expected and who would greet were much too different.

There was no preparing for this.

The Seventh Brother glanced back at her, and she nodded in silent agreement with him; there was no need for an ambush.

Unholstering her WESTARS, she joined his pace as they marched up the canyon together.

Reaching the top, they were met by the remainder of Gerrera's forces, blasters trained steadily on them. Sabine scanned the row of soldiers in front of them, registering the seething hatred in their eyes. They weren't seeing Sabine, rather their eyes were fixed upon the symbol of the Galactic Empire emblazoned on and the Seventh's uniforms. Neither of them was a person to Saw's men, just walking reminders of the entity which oppressed (or destroyed) their worlds.

And in the middle stood their leader, Saw Gerrera, who eyed them with a special kind of hate; here stood two representatives of the regime which ruled the very planet they stood on. They place Saw once called home. The fact he'd been forced to hide out in the canyons was no doubt doubly insulting.

Gerrera stepped forward, sneering, "Two Imperials. That's all we warrant? _Two_ Imps?!"

The Seventh met the challenge, "You're to be shocked Gerrera. I'd say two is overkill."

The Lasat beside Gerrera snarled something in his native tongue.

"Mock all you wish," Saw gestured to his men. "We have you surrounded. Surrender and your deaths will be quick. Even think of attacking, and we'll broadcast your execution for the galaxy to see. We may just do that to you, anyway, red blade."

"So," the Inquisitor tilted his head, "you've done your homework. Then you know there's only one way this ends."

"What was it the Jedi used to say," Saw smirked. "Only Sith believe in absolutes."

"Trust me," the Seventh said coldly. "You'll prefer to die by my hand instead of a Sith's."

"Enough talk," the Lasat to Gerrera's right brought his blaster to bear. "Time to die, Imperial scum!"

Sabine brought up her own weapons, just as Saw's men did the same. To her right, the Inquisitor unclipped something from his belt and stretched out his arm. The hiss of his saber's ignition filled the night air, a beam of red glowing in the dark. Against the glow, his featureless helmet was a fearsome sight. The bravado hanging over Saw's men dissipated.

The Lasat was the first to overcome the shock and aimed squarely at the Seventh, rifle spitting fire. The Seventh Brother deflected each bolt with a practiced ease and lunged forward. Before the first person could realize what was happening, the blade of his saber snatch away his arm before severing his throat.

Sabine took advantage of their distraction and opened fire, downing two of them as the rest scrambled for cover. In their display of courageous defiance, they'd sacrificed protection and left themselves open. The Lasat and Gerrera retreated toward the camp, diving behind the rocks and began to return fire. Sabine tagged one of the retreating Partisans in the leg before delivering a bolt to the back of their skull.

In thirty seconds, half of Gerrera's forces were dealt with.

The Seventh Brother joined her as they took cover and surveyed their options. That Saw and his men fell back to the camp suggested the pesticides were somewhere beyond. They could end the threat here. But one wrong move and they'd be exposed to the gas. She didn't think Saw was above taking his enemies with him to the grave.

Which was why she'd come prepared.

Grasping at the circular object on her hip, she chanced a look at the enemy's position. Switching her visor to scan for the gas, she was granted a glimpse of the cannister seated just behind Gerrera and his men. With the confirmation, she kneeled back down to converse with her partner.

"I have a visual on the gas," she said. "I know how we can end this."

"Do tell."

"I toss my explosive and blow up the gas, Saw and his men are forced to retreat. Of course, there'll be a ship waiting to capture them."

"Good plan, he nodded. "But I've got a better one."

The Seventh Brother snatched bomb from her hand and tossed it. He reached out with the Force and guided the device toward the canisters. That done, he used his other hand to guide the cannisters closer to Saw and his men. Said rebel and his Partisans were too busy glancing at the Inquisitor realize what he was doing. Sabine felt the realization dawn on her with startling clarity. She looked at him with disbelief, glancing at the hand which threw the bomb; it was curled into a fist.

He was holding the bomb, staving off the explosion until it was close enough.

"No!" Sabine cried. "Don't—"

The Seventh Brother released his hold on the explosive and her words were drowned out in the ensuing thunder.


End file.
